


like a habit, i become curious

by soulofme



Category: TharnType the Series (TV)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: "Show me."
Relationships: Tharn Kirigun/Type (TharnType)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 128





	like a habit, i become curious

Adolescence.

Marked by raging hormones, crippling low self-esteem, and the ever-present awkwardness of not knowing quite where you fit in, it’s a special kind of nightmare. The days are filled with school, of calculus and English, of a future so uncertain that sometimes, more often than not, Tharn gets obnoxious butterflies fluttering around in the pit of his stomach.

Adolescence means sex, too. The kind that’s more about exploration than reaching an end. The kind that the health teachers gloss over, focusing more on how to avoid an STD than how to figure out what feels good, just to say that they taught the emerging youth _something_.

What the sex education at school lacks, Type graciously makes up for.

Today, they’re in Tharn’s house. It’s dark and quiet, his parents off at date night, Thorn out with his friends, and Thanya deep asleep. Type brought the beer, the kind that was sour and cheap but managed to still make Tharn feel like he was floating along aimlessly.

They’re not drunk, simply because they’re not dumb enough to be when they can be easily caught. Type is leaning back against Tharn’s bed, seated on the ground with his legs curled up beneath him. He blinks lazily at Tharn before his lips curl into a smile that— _somehow_ —feels mean.

“Look at you,” Type drawls, dragging his pinky around the rim of his beer can. “You’re gonna be drowning in pussy before you know it.”

Tharn flinches at the crass words, staring down at his hands, hanging loosely in his lap.

“I’m not—”

“I know,” Type cuts him off impatiently. He leans back on his hands, looking at Tharn so intently that it feels like he’s sizing him up before he pounces for the kill. “Mr. Hotshot Drummer doesn’t fuck _girls_.”

There’s a taunting edge to Type’s voice, something that makes Tharn’s ears burn with shame. He pretends to twist his fingers together just so that he doesn’t have to look at the smirk curling on Type’s lips.

“Shut up.”

It’s a weak response. Type laughs cruelly at it, his eyes crinkling upwards at the corners. Like this, he looks innocent. There’s something carefree and simple about him now, something that Tharn doesn’t have to dig deeply into to understand.

It’s almost as if Type is attainable. As if they’re operating on the same wavelength, instead of millions upon millions of miles away from each other. There isn’t a galaxy separating them tonight.

The pit of Tharn’s stomach feels like it might fall out beneath him.

Type shifts again, yanking his tie loose from around his slender neck, sinking down against the bed, discarding his empty drink. He rolls his head around, yawing exaggeratedly.

“Have you even fucked anyone before?”

Tharn feels his mouth drop open at the question, the words buzzing around in his ears before they turn into static. Type picks at his nails, disinterested, as if he’d just asked a question about their homework. When he looks up at Tharn again, it’s with a expectant look that makes him squirm.

“Yes.”

It’s not a lie, but Type wouldn’t know that with the way Tharn’s voice jumps in pitch. He raises a skeptical brow but doesn’t say anything. Not at first, at least.

“Bet you sucked.”

Tharn’s face burns.

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah?” Type asks, leaning forward. “What, did you _ask_?”

“I didn’t need to.” Tharn bites the words out before he can think about it.

For a second, he fools himself into thinking that Type is mildly impressed.

“You talk a big game, Kirigun.”

“Well, have you?”

This time, Tharn is sure he doesn’t imagine the intrigued look shot his way. Type hums softly, shrugging his shoulders.

“Fucked?”

“Y-yeah,” Tharn gets out, stammering for some ungodly reason.

“You can’t even say it,” Type remarks, narrowing his eyes. “C’mon. Ask me if I’ve ever fucked.”

“I did.”

“Say it.”

Tharn swallows hard. He swears he can hear the soft tick of a clock, counting the seconds that pass all while Type stares him down.

“Have you ever fucked?”

“Was that so hard?” Type mutters, more to himself than anything. Even so, shame swells inside of Tharn like a tidal wave. “Sure. Many times.”

He reaches back into his memory, tries to imagine Type with all the pretty girls who hang around him on campus. It’s not difficult to imagine them batting their eyelashes coyly at him. It’s not difficult to imagine Type whisking them away to have his way with them, either.

“Were you good?”

“Oh, yeah,” Type says. He’s crawling closer now, and Tharn can hear the rabbit pace his heartbeat has taken up. “I’m a fucking expert.”

They’re close enough to breath the same air now. Tharn feels lightheaded, as if all the oxygen in his lungs has been stolen by Type. He shifts backwards, but Type follows after him easily, caging him in with his arms.

“I am too,” Tharn says, voice shaking, words tumbling out before he can process that he’s even speaking.

There’s no trace of any lingering cruelty on Type’s face. But there is a strange darkness in his eye, one that Tharn can’t quite place. It makes his blood rush in his veins, his heart pump harder, his breath come out in choked little sounds that Type smiles at.

He leans over Tharn, snaking his nimble fingers up his shirt, and whispers:

“Show me.”


End file.
